I take a lot of these shots and just can’t seem to get enough of them. It reminds me of times I visited Hawaii and would float for long stretches in the water, rocking with the waves. Now that I live in Florida, it’s ironic that I can go whenever I want but seldom do.
To see the sunset like this, you walk into the park after closing. Doing so I thought I’d be alone but found a crowd along the shore, all with the same idea. After sunset, I took a quiet trail back to avoid the crowds. However, the trails have lifesize cutouts of historical figures, and more than once, I was startled by conquistadores and aboriginals staring back at me. It was a little unnerving, to say the least.
Living along the coast, you develop a sense of normalcy about living where others vacation. So it’s good to get away for some perspective and then come back. It’s human nature; nothing lasts forever, even that feeling at the start of a long weekend.
The weather can be a metaphor for emotions. It can be bright and sunny one day, gloomy the next.
I can imagine wind as a metaphor for thoughts, blowing through the mind, never-ceasing. We draw on the forces of nature to represent our inner experiences. Maybe our internal environment follows some of the same laws of physics; like fluid dynamics.
I would post this photo along with some original words. But it seemed a little too cliché.
When I look at a simple thing, my mind wanders. That’s a life long habit I’ve acquired. It’s too easy to get distracted with the first thought that comes to mind. Maybe it sounds silly, but it’s a measure of how life is when we cannot focus on something uncomplicated.
When we were children, before our brains developed, we could be easily delighted. Some scientist suspect that the ability to be fascinated with simple things diminishes with the development of the default mode network in the brain. Whether that’s the case or not, it does make me wonder what our developed brains cause us to overlook.
I have never been at the center of a Tweet Storm unless of course, we are referring to squawks on the beach. Maybe this is a good metaphor for that.
Speaking of which, I just heard the in-depth interview of Jack Dorsey on Sam Harris’s podcast. The guy is pretty zen, way more than I expected. Long story short, Twitter is a work in progress and, from what I can glean, Jack has his heart in the right place.
I’m not much of a Twitter guy, I just tweet my photos, but that’s probably not the ideal use case. I do like to follow certain people, but I’m not really into participating in public discourse. I’m more contemplative and keep my thoughts to myself. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing; but let just say, it is what it is.
After the long red tide, it’s nice to see the beaches back to normal. The fish have returned, and fishers are back at it.
A lot of research has gone into determining the causes of the toxic algae bloom. Historically, this has occurred for decades if not centuries. It’s possible that man is aggravating it, and it’s likely there are other causes, such as colonies of it endemic to the deep in the gulf.
Nevertheless, it wreaks havoc on coastal communities in Florida. It’s gone for now, and we hope it stays away. But after the last eighteen months, everyone is a little on edge. Most importantly, it gives us a new appreciation for the years when we don’t have it.
One of the reasons I do seascape photography is that it reminds me of things bigger than myself. It’s easy to forget that we are part of a much larger universe.
When we are children, everything is new, and we are often in a state of awe at the world around us. Then we develop thought patterns and an ego. We get through life by constructing a story of who and what we are. But that inward-looking drive comes at a cost: we forget the awe.
When I create images with a minimal theme, the open space is a reminder to myself, and anyone else, that we are part of something beyond the daily grind. Once in a while, I like to remind my self of that.
There is a barrier of dunes that run the length of Anna Maria Island. Plants grow in the dunes and as a result, protect it from the onslaught of the sea.
It’s incredible how nature comes up with devices to protect one thing from another. The forces of nature are regularly at war, and the results of the conflict create a boundary that, in this instance, we call a beach.
Sometimes I like to get down into the trenches with the troops. In this case, I found a path through the dunes at Manatee Beach. People came to enjoy the sense of peace and tranquility. However, as summer approaches, it will invariably bring new storms that test the resolve of these little dunes. May they hold fast and secure.
I am partial to the west coast. Any west coast will do, I’m not that particular. It just needs to be a coast on the west side of any land mass.
I mentioned in a recent post that this has everything to do with how our planet spins. As we know, the sun sets in the west. However, if our world turned in the opposite direction, it would set in the east, and I’d have a preference as an east coast guy. Come to think of it; I’m not that attached to the west, rather, the direction that the sun sets. As for this planet, it’s west. But over near Alpha Centauri, all bets are off.
Back here in the United States, I live in the eastern part of the country on the west coast of Florida. In this way, should the Earth change its mind and decide to spin the other way, I should have my bases covered.